The light was sharp and blinding, forcing Mina to blink again and again. It was nothing like the soft morning glow of her apartment. She wasn’t on the couch anymore. Or in her bed.

–Hm? Something feels off.

Her pulse quickened as her eyes scanned the unfamiliar room, trying to make sense of the tall ceilings, the gilded walls, and the glittering chandeliers overhead.

The scents hit her next. Heavy perfume layered with roses, faint sandalwood, and the sharp bite of citrus. Beneath it, the buttery aroma of roasted meats and warm bread drifted from somewhere deeper in the ballroom. Music filled the space, a lively waltz that was at once foreign and strangely familiar. The strings tugged at her chest, and the piano carried a rhythm that made her heart hammer faster, as if it had a mind of its own.

Her body moved before she could think. Step after step, turn after turn, her feet gliding across polished floorboards, the emerald green silk of her gown brushing her legs. Golden embroidery traced delicate patterns along the hem and bodice, catching the candlelight with every spin. The long gloves encasing her arms felt smooth and heavy, the lace at her neckline tickling her collarbone. Every movement was perfect, effortless, as if she had danced this waltz a hundred times. Yet. She never had.

Panic coiled tightly in her chest. Her body obeyed on instinct while her mind screamed confusion. Was she possessed, or had she somehow possessed this body?

Her gaze finally landed on her dance partner. He moved with flawless poise, guiding her gently yet firmly. Golden eyes held hers with a steady, unyielding gaze, his raven dark hair glinting in the candlelight like the night sky. His hair, parted just off-center, fell in soft, uneven waves that framed his face and brushed lightly against his brows in quiet elegance. His features were sharp yet refined, cleanly shaved, and he looked to be older than twenty, maybe twentyfour, tall and broad-shouldered. Calm and polite, his lips curved into a faint, amused smile that made her stomach feel weird and tingly.

–Who is this? A prince? Some noble? Or a high-ranking knight?

She pressed her lips tightly together. She couldn’t tell. Then the thought struck her harder than any punch.

–Hold on. Is this really a dream? Or did I die?

Mina recognized this kind of scenario, almost as if she were seeing it from the outside.

–No, no, no. Did a war break out and nuke us?

Her gaze darted across the ballroom. It definitely looked like another world, or at least another time. The gowns, the chandeliers, the elegance of it all felt closer to a late Victorian era than anything modern.

–Isn’t a truck supposed to hit me? Or shouldn’t I die from overwork? I didn’t even get greeted by some God.

No, this had to be a dream. It made sense. She had read too many of those novels, the ones where characters woke up in strange worlds. Rarely, she’d even dreamed herself into a game after grinding for days. This felt the same.

If this was her imagination, she might as well let it unfold. It wasn’t every day she got pulled into a storybook ballroom, swept into a scene straight from the novels she devoured. Or whatever this world was. Maybe her mind was indulging her for all those late nights of reading. Fine, she would play along for now, and see where the story led.

She realized her dance partner was way too handsome to just be some extra character. So who was he really? The male lead? A supporting character? Or perhaps some family member?

–Does this mean… Am I maybe the female lead? Am I like the heroine or a villainess? Oh no. Please don’t tell me I’m going to die at the end.

She almost grunted, her carefully maintained composure faltering for a fraction of a second.

She noticed the way her dance partner looked at her. That familiar gaze she had seen in stories, in movies, even in real life. Affection. Perhaps something closer to love. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

–No, no, no, no. He’s not my lover, is he?

Her heart already belonged elsewhere. This felt like cheating, even if it was only a dream.

–This is still a dream, right? That must be it.

If it was, then she might as well play along for a while. See what it was like to be a noble lady, to live out whatever story her mind had cooked up. It wasn’t every day she got a front-row seat to her own fantasy.

–I can still make my own choices. Maybe I’ll try a divorce, dump this guy, or run away and live a peaceful life.

If the dream lasted that long, anyway.

She almost felt satisfied with her reasoning, but then her skin tingled where his hands guided her. The touch, the music, the smell, everything. Every detail, every sensation, was too precise. Too vivid. Her awareness was too keen for a dream.

Her pulse raced, her stomach twisting as if gripped by a sudden ache. Her mind screamed for her to wake up, yet her body refused to listen, gliding flawlessly across the polished floor.

–This is not a dream. Is it?

She suddenly felt very nauseous. She could feel her blood dropping and her face going paler if not for her makeup hiding it. Her left foot caught on the edge of her gown. A tiny stumble, almost imperceptible, yet enough for a pair of sharp eyes to notice. She felt herself humiliated, not knowing that no one besides the man in front of her noticed. Her body corrected herself and continued to dance elegantly, maybe the will of the body didn’t want to be in shame. Yet she felt anxious, so anxious her hearing sharpened.

She noticed those whispers. They lapped at the edges of the dance floor, hushed but barbed. The language sounded old, formal, almost archaic, yet she understood every word as though meaning pressed itself into her mind without effort.

A sharp-tongued noblewoman voice whispered, “Earl Ravenshaw hasn’t looked away from her once.”

“Of course not,” another woman replied, voice airy and smug. “She’s a du Fane. A pretty face and a Grand Duke’s fortune can bewitch any man.”

“Or ensnare him,” murmured a man nearby, tone low and amused. “Remember her first betrothal? Carriage overturned, groom crushed before the wedding.”

An older, cautious voice added quietly, “And the second? Dead in his sleep. Heart too weak, they said… though others speculate poison.”

“No man survives her hand for long,” someone gasped softly from behind a fan.

A fan snapped open. A lady’s voice, soft and dripping with pity, floated through the music, “Poor Earl Ravenshaw. So handsome, so promising, but now shackled to her.”

Another joined, sharper and scornful, “Don’t let her innocent appearance fool you either. Her personality is rotten. She breaks dishes, throws wine, lashes out like a harlot scorned. At the last masquerade, Lord Harland limped for weeks after she crushed his foot. And she laughed.”

“Laughed? I heard she smiled cold as ice. Just like her eyes,” someone sneered.

“Hah, how fitting. Hair like fire, like her temper. Eyes like frost, like her heart,” another whispered.

A sudden gasp followed. “Hush! The Duke of Huntingdon is here tonight. Let him hear you slander his daughter and you’ll hang before sunrise.”

Mina’s throat tightened. Du Fane. The name curled like smoke in her mind, familiar yet foreign, sharp as a sting. Seraphine du Fane. Pain radiated briefly as the syllables lodged themselves in her head. She winced. This was not her name, but it carried weight she felt immediately.

Her crimson hair tumbled over one shoulder, a streak of raspberry pink catching the light. She glimpsed her reflection in the polished floorboards. Vibrant crystal blue eyes stared back at her, wide with panic, their color almost electric. She was maybe twenty, her face youthful, yet her body fully matured, every curve in harmony with the standards of beauty whispered about in high society. The emerald green gown fit flawlessly, the golden embroidery gleaming with every motion, gloves encasing her arms, lace edging each sleeve. She looked like perfection, untouchable, elegant, and utterly foreign in her own skin.

Earl Ravenshaw’s hand remained steady at her back, golden eyes unblinking. His calm veneer carried subtle warmth, hints of admiration or concern, though she could not tell. Her chest tightened.

–Why does he look at me like that?

She thought, silently panicking of how he truly felt about her.

The crowd’s whispers circled her like a tide, envy and judgment flowing in equal measure. Eyes followed every turn, noting perfection and hunting for flaws. None could see the chaos beneath her composure. None could guess that she was trapped in someone else’s body, that her mind scrambled desperately for control. Even the Earl did not notice her strange behavior. At least, he did not show he noticed.

With all this attention, she doubted that she was just a side character. Did she end up in a story she already read?

–Ugh, no! I’ve read too many, way too many stories similar to this. How would I know which story I ended up in? I must be a villainess as well if her reputation is already this rotten.

She loved to read those tropes, but she sure hoped not to end up in one. That was her only clue, besides having no idea who she really was or what her role was. There were stories where the female lead returned home, but her? She had no clue if that was possible. Did she have to play her role till the end? Should she just end her life? No, no story helped with that.

Hold on. Did that mean people were watching her now? Were people reading about her now? She glanced up, thinking that someone would be able to make eye contact with her.

–Please, save me! Let me out of here and then you can just move on to the next story.

Nothing happened. Only the Earl in front of her raised an eyebrow, but she just smiled at him politely as if nothing was amiss. It seemed like her plea didn’t work, or it was just not that easy. What did she expect? It was not like the readers would demand the author to free her, they would just read about her life for amusement.

She had survived the first spin, but questions crashed over her. Was she stuck now? It wouldn’t be a good story if it already ended at the start. So when could she be free? Survival depended on obedience to this world’s rules and understanding which rules she hadn’t yet learned.

Her body obeyed. Step after step, turn after turn, flawless yet mechanical, rehearsed. The waltz carried her, each spin a shield against the chaos in her thoughts. She could almost forget the whispers, the doomed past fiancés, her fate, and the intense gaze of her current partner. Almost.

As the dance drew to a close, she let herself glide into a polite bow, guided by Lucien Ravenshaw. A name stabbed at her mind again, sharper this time. He bowed her gently out of the turn. “You handled that very well, my lady,” he murmured, voice warm and softly, carrying something unspoken. She forced out a polite “Thank you.”

Whispers resumed, sharper now that the dance had ended. Some women spoke of her beauty and skill, others of envy and her temper. She understood it all perfectly, every judgment, every warning, even though the language sounded archaic.

“Did you see her spin? Perfect posture. Perfect rhythm, they look so good together. But still… something is off,” a woman whispered loud enough for others to hear.

“Off? I bet she’s already thinking of her next suitor. And her hair… insightfully red,” another replied, voice dripping with disgust.

“Temper, they say. The red hair proves her nasty temper. Not to mention the curse around her. Any man foolish enough…” a third whispered cautiously.

“…won’t survive her… misfortune or madness, it’s all the same,” a young lady added softly.

“Watch her smile, though. Cold as ice. That one’s not a flirt. But a man’s glance might set her off,” a woman leaning closer hissed.

“Would you dare approach her if you were a lord?” a final voice murmured, low and wary.

Soft shakes of heads answered.

Mina felt the sting of her unfamiliarity. She didn’t know these people. She had never lived this life. And yet, she could understand everything. It felt familiar to her… or to Seraphine?

–Should I just accept my life as hers for now?

Lucien guided her to a quieter corner, golden gaze catching hers longer than etiquette required. He offered his arm, which she accepted, trusting his poise even as her mind reeled. The whispers continued around her, slicing between conversations. She could feel the envy, the judgment, the subtle threats, an invisible tension pressing against her like warning hands.

A well-dressed man glanced too long, too long and at inappropriate places, smirk tugging at his lips. Mina stiffened and felt some disgust, recalling the women’s hushed warnings.

–Ew, I’m not interested.

She silently cursed at them in her mind. Her heart belonged elsewhere, far away, to someone not even in this world. They knew nothing about her. And perhaps, they never will.

Lucien’s hand remained a steadying presence, his poise grounding her. The servant offered refreshments, their sweet scent mingling with lingering perfume. Mina sipped carefully on her red wine, calming her racing heart. She observed the room, noting glances, judgments, whispers, and posture. Each step, each turn, each tilt of the head mattered. Every motion rippled consequences, invisible yet powerful.

She took a quiet breath.

Her hands trembled slightly, but her outward composure remained flawless. Every lingering gaze saw elegance, beauty, and grace. Inside, Mina’s thoughts raced in confusion, fear, and a spark of determination.

–I may be trapped in this life, in this body, in this story… but I will not be a pawn. I will decide my own story and return home. So whoever is watching me, enjoy it while it lasts.